


The 三  Ways

by xanster



Series: Deja Vu No Matter The World [20]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:33:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanster/pseuds/xanster
Summary: すみえ:"Just as in Zen, few words are enough to express the meaning of many hours of meditation, in sumi-e (すみえ), few marks of black ink painted with a brush on a simple sheet of white paper, can represent the most complex model. One must learn to capture the essence in order to get to the heart of reality as it is.On rice paper, only one brush stroke is allowed for each mark: any touch-ups are immediately evident. All mental activities that are complicating the image (and your life) are given-up."





	1. 一

_A drop of water on the slab._

_Not too much, for it will dilute._

_Not too little, for it will harden in no time._

_Just enough, like the size of a tear as it wells up before falling._

 

_A stick to mix._

_Not too hard, for it would break._

_Not too light, for then it won't be ink._

_Just enough, so the surface yields._

 

_Changmin places his brush on the slab and swipes up so the ink curls._

_He takes a breath and composes himself._

_The character forms in his head and he sees himself write._

_The wind chimes behind him tinkle in anticipation..._

 

The surface is held up against the light. 

Soft but absorbent, it holds the ink with its coarse texture giving the characters a certain spontaneity. 

The other type is matte, coated and dry; preferred by the elders but Yunho feels it's too stiff for him.

He blows off the paper as it dries. 

 

First of the quarter, of the year.

The clock strikes an hour after the noon.

Yunho spreads out the paper, flat against the table.

He wonders how long more he'd have to wait.

 

The bell signals the entrance of the other.

A delicate jingle that mirrors the curling up of his mouth as he looks up, his eyes twinkling.

Changmin smiles as he receives Yunho's welcome. 

Silence fills the room, but it's a warm one.

 

Yunho starts rolling up the paper, carefully.

A twirl of yarn used to finish off the package.

The unsized rice paper is curled up, ready for its writer.

He didn't have to ask, he knows Changmin will always get the coarse one.

 

_Sumi-e._

_One of the youngest ever to take up black ink painting._

_Rather than black ink, sumi-e meant the showcasing of the meeting between simplicity and spontaneity._

_Where reality is reduced to the purest form._

_No touch-up necessary; just a few marks in black was enough._

 

 

And only certain paper-making families would suffice.

Yunho, the first-born of the first-born of the first-born for four generations. 

The type of rice; the first harvest, which had made his fingers smooth like silk, with the amount of the times they had been sunk in rice water over and over. 

The secret of anti-aging, his father used to joke. 

 

Only one kind for just one type.

That's how they met.

That's how they started.

The character of 'one'; in each other's hearts.

 

 


	2. 二

The hot steam of the water dances with the breeze.

A twirl, a bow, a dip and a waltz.

The green tea blows a deep green, the colour of jade.

Yunho lifts the cup up and inhales.

 

 _His_ back is upright, shoulders just slightly slouched.

The collar of his undershirt lies loose down his back, his shoulders exposed.

A tinge of rust colours a soft circle, near his spine.

Testament to the man who was watching _it_ ; watching the other whose back on which it lay.

 

Yunho sips, and savours the green liquid that is running down his throat.

The warmth of the tea slipping down his chest which lay bare and open.

His linen jacket untied and hanging loose around his shoulders.

The first drink of the morning in admiration of his first sight in the morning.

 

Changmin lifts his brush and dabs it gently in the slab.

He raises it over the paper, newly-purchased the morning before from the man who sits now, behind him.

He focuses, clears his mind.

He can  _feel,_ feel the gaze of the one whose eyes bear into his; everytime, every  _night._

The morning breeze teases at his hair, kissing slowly down his nape. 

He almost mistakes it for the lips of the paper-maker that resembles the coarseness of the paper he uses.

A coarseness that rubs slick and smooth, when it meets his own in the cover of the nights.

One that stings and burns as it finds its way all over the map of his skin. 

 

His brush stops, he has almost been distracted.

Yunho notices, the cup paused on its second trip upwards.

He gets up and makes his way quietly behind the painter.

His feet pad softly into the tatami until they reach its target and then settle spread apart.

 

The young painter places down his brush and sighs.

He leans back into the embrace of the older as Yunho nuzzles into the crook of his neck.

A breath is shared between the both of them, the familiar coarseness gentling out with the kiss.

Yunho reaches over and interlocks his larger hand with Changmin's.

 

He watches.

Their hand now one, reach for the brush.

The ink, not yet dried, has left a smudge on the wood.

Yunho presses another kiss to his lover's cheek.

 

They watch.

As ink sets on the paper; a bird chirping. 

 

 

 


	3. 三

Tourists line the street, pulled in by the calls of vendors or the smells of food cooking.

The spring sky is light with clouds like cotton, and the air, a warm coolness. 

Vehicles drive past, ferrying their human loads on their journeys.

Movement, swift and continuous.

 

A spacious structure, in dark red and green, looms up as another group of tourists walk up towards it.

Carvings, intricate like lace, line the awnings and the doorway that leads into its sanctum.

The atmosphere is heavy but not stifling; 

The quietness, a respite from the hectic sounds of the tourist street just down the pathway.

 

They stumble in, looking around with wide eyes and curiosity.

Scrolls of paper with traditional characters and paintings line the walls.

Redwood furniture, with their surfaces polished to a gleam, stand awaiting.

A sign reminds visitors to avoid flash photography so that the original pieces on the wall will last the test of time.

 

A young girl patters up to a main stone table that lies low to the tatami ground. 

On it, is an ink slab, well-used but many years unused. 

Beside it is a fude, a traditional brush that has its once snow-white bristles darkened black.

A piece of paper lies spread out - its coarse texture evident through the ink that has settled upon it a long time ago.

 

_Yunho gently rinses the sheet in water again before he spreads it onto the straw loom._

_He is carefully checking the newly-prepared rice paper when he hears the front bell ring._

_Changmin steps in, accompanied by another man, both dressed in the common summer clothes of scholars._

_His eyes meet the younger's and he smiles to himself as he notices a pink flush immediately start to bloom on the man's cheeks._

 

_The distinguished-looking man nods at him and starts striding around the shop which opens out to his backyard studio where he is._

_He strokes his chin as if making mental notes and nods approvingly at things Yunho can't see from where he stands._

_Yunho finishes tacking the paper and dries his hands slowly before stepping across the stone threshold._

_He takes his place beside Changmin, not too close but not too far._

 

_The man who has been looking around, gestures for a paper and a brush._

_He writes a few words down along with a figure for a sum that would be sizeable even today._

_Changmin and Yunho exchange a glance- Yunho knows it would be the start of something new; a big risk - Changmin is both grateful and glad._

_The decision taken after the passage of time, as their longing went beyond the physical and extended into a desire to be both partners in love and life._

 

The tourist group gather back at the entrance of the foyer. 

Some are silenced by the serenity and peacefulness of the place; others are bored. 

But they stand together anyway, to take a picture as tourists are wont to do.

Behind them, the plaque in sumi-e across the doorway, announces: The 三 Ways.

 

 

An explanatory sign beside it states:

This was the home and workshop of master sumi-e artist, Shim Changmin and fourth-generation master kozo paper-maker, Jung Yunho. 

The Shim style of ink calligraphy was revolutionary for it showcased ink painting that was both minimalistic yet subtly intricate.

The Jung kozo paper is known for its delicate coarseness that absorbs the ink without eroding the details of the artist.

In this building, they lived and worked together for 45 years, passing away just 18 days apart. 

Their work continues to live on through the Academy of Sumi-E which has taught 2,000 artists and craftsmen and counting.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When thinking about the different things a "third" could be; I wanted it to be realistic. Adoption? Marriage? In those days, it was impossible. Their relationship as subtly hinted at, was something that revealed itself only when no one else was watching. I intentionally left out mentions of date and era, even country because I feel this could be a story that is taking place even now. Also, I enjoyed researching sumi-e as I wrote this. 
> 
> For those of us who are non-Chinese speakers: 一 (yi or one) 二 (er or two) 三 (san or three); The 三 (Three) Ways of (Loving) starts with The Beginning, The Middle and the End.


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